The Photographer
by pencilpusher89
Summary: Link visits Windfall Island at night, and the King of Red Lions meets an old friend.


The sun had long since set over the dark waters of The Great Sea, and there was no sound but that of a small boat cutting through the waves. The new moon provided no light and the stars were barely visible through the low, lazy clouds.

The going was slow. The young boy at the stern of the little sailboat was getting more and more worried that he'd steered off course. He had the power to change the direction of the wind, but tonight it was little more than a light breeze. He wouldn't make it to Windfall Island before midnight at this rate. The rudder creaked as he turned to starboard. As he did so, the front of the boat creaked as well, and the majestic, carved head that decorated the prow turned around to face him.

"Don't be so hasty Link! Just keep true. Trust the winds that have chosen to serve you!"

And sure enough, the sleepy lights of civilisation soon appeared on the horizon. The wind picked up a little too, which brought a great smile to boy's face - he'd now arrive with plenty of time to spare. As they got closer, the sound of the waves and the wind was joined by the creaking of the island's enormous, recently repaired windmill as it slowly revolved overhead.

Link dropped the sail and steered his ship carefully alongside the small docks on Windfall Island. The boat breathed a sigh of relief once they'd come to a halt - the last time they were here, the boy had crashed into the jetty with such force that he almost ran them aground.

"So, what are we doing here this late, Link?" asked the sailboat.

Link patted his rupee purse.

"I see. Will anything be open at this time of night?"

Link made a roof shape with his hands.

"The auction house. In the middle of the night. That's a pretty funny time to hold an auction."

Link nodded in assent.

The boat's huge wooden head leaned in close. "_What about bed-time?_"

Link shrugged his shoulders, then ran up the hill and through the town gate. He was very carefree for a legendary hero.

When the pitter patter of his little boots had faded away, the boat spoke to a nearby tree.

"You can come out now, Lenzo."

A large figure emerged from the shadows and approached the Jetty. He wore a long orangy-yellow robe and matching columnar hat. His huge beard hung down from his face like a canvas sack. He had a wooden box on a strap around his neck.

"I never could sneak up on you," said the old man. "I'm glad to see the years haven't dulled your eyes."

"Hello old friend," replied the boat. "It's been a while."

"It has indeed, your majesty."

He lowered his head respectfully. The King of Red Lions, for that was the boat's name, gave a little nod in return.

"Your boy visited me, you know?" said the old man. "At first I thought he was a thief, but when he returned my lost pictograph box I was so overwhelmed by his honesty that I let him keep it."

"Yes, I know," said the Red King, not particularly pleased. "He won't stop taking my picture with it."

Lenzo looked at him wide-eyed for a moment, and let out a hearty laugh.

"Oh, he knows a good subject when he sees one, even under that disguise of yours! Clever boy! I look forward to developing some of those for him."

He chuckled for a while longer. Then nostalgia took over.

"When was the last time I took your picture, sire?"

"Many years ago, old friend. Do you still take pictographs?"

"No... no I do not," he said, with a tinge of sadness. He was gripping the box around his neck without realising it. "I have a little gallery above the school where I sell the odd picture, but you know it was never about that. I don't travel any more - it's gotten so dangerous. I haven't left the island in two years."

The Red King nodded gravely. The suffering of his people pained him.

"A great darkness has crept upon our land," he said. "And it's getting stronger all the time."

"Is he the one that's going to save us from it?"

"Yes," said the King, without a moment's hesitation.

"He's only a boy."

"But he learns fast. The Dark One is not the only one gathering his strength. We shall see who is stronger when the time comes."

"How soon?" asked the pictographer.

"Very soon. But we'll be ready."

The boat nodded, it's wooden neack creaking as it did so.

"Gods help us," said the old man.

The two friends stood there and looked out at the dark sea. Tiny waves nibbled quietly away at the shores of the island. The windmill creaked on into the night.


End file.
